


Struggling

by Singing_Violin



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Episode: s10e06 My Struggle II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-27
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-05-23 14:35:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 20
Words: 20,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6119490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Singing_Violin/pseuds/Singing_Violin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens after the screen goes black in "My Struggle II"?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The X-Files characters and universe are not mine. If they were, the whole thing would make a lot more sense.

Dana Scully awoke slowly, gradually becoming aware of the aches and pains throughout her body, and then of the intense cold permeating every pore. As she forced her heavy eyelids open, she shivered and attempted to survey her surroundings, but her muscles were sluggish, and she could barely move. It wasn't long before she realized she was lying on something hard and metallic, and hooked up to various machines that did not resemble anything she'd ever used on a patient.

It felt familiar, somehow.

Memories she didn't know she'd had, images from over two decades ago, began to flood into her mind, and her eyes filled with tears.

 _Not again_.

She tried desperately to break free of the instruments attached to her, but she was too weak, even as she struggled.

She felt sick.

She was going to be sick.

Just barely managing to turn her body sideways, she retched over the side of the table on which she lay. Not much came up, and she wondered when she had last eaten before collapsing onto her back, panting and sobbing.

A figure coalesced into her view, and a hand went to her shoulder. "Easy, Agent Scully. You're not well."

 _No shit, Sherlock,_ she thought to herself, but she couldn't form the words. She tried to access her medical brain in order to assess her own condition, and perhaps surmise what drugs she might have been given to immobilize her, but her mind, too, was fuzzy.

However, she recognized that voice. She just needed him to say something else—or come closer—and she'd know who it was.

Satisfying her morbid curiosity, the face of the Cigarette Smoking Man—aged and disfigured, but unmistakable—swam in front of her, and with all of her effort, she managed to choke out one word, "Bastard!" and spit foul saliva into his face.

He pulled out a cloth and casually wiped it off. "Is that any way to treat the man who saved your life?" he taunted.

Despite herself, more tears escaped her eyes, and she desperately racked her brain for ways to escape, but came up empty.

The elderly Spender gestured to someone out of her field of view, who then handed him a syringe. "Sleep now, Dana. You'll feel better in the morning," he bade, and injected her arm.

Oblivion came quickly.


	2. Chapter 2

When she awoke again, Scully was groggy, but as Spender had promised, did feel slightly better, although this was in part because of the more comfortable accommodations: she found herself in a large, soft bed, with blankets pulled over her and fluffed pillows under her head.

In the back of her mind nagged the feeling that there was somewhere else she needed to be, something she needed to be doing.

 _Mulder_. _He needs my help._

The last thing she remembered, her partner was dying in the car, stranded on the highway bridge in stopped traffic, and something—a spaceship?—was hovering overhead, shining a light down on her. She'd looked into the light and then...

Nothing.

Cut to her brief period of lucidity in horrendous conditions sometime prior.

And now, the comfort of a bedroom?

It didn't make any sense.

And where was Mulder?

"Dana?" queried a familiar, warm, comforting voice. "Are you awake?"

Scully blinked furiously. It couldn't be.

The older woman walked over and took her hand. "How are you feeling?" she asked worriedly. "You gave us all a scare."

Shock registered on the younger woman's face, and tears sprang once again to her eyes. "Mom?"

Then she shook her head. "No, you're not here. You're dead."

Maggie chuckled. "Of course I'm not dead, Honey. I'm right here."

"Mom...no...you had a heart attack. You changed your living will, without telling me! And they took you off life support...and we sat with you, Mulder and I, just a little while, and...why am I telling you this? You're not real. I need to get back." She attempted to get out of the bed, but her mother's hand on her chest stopped her from rising even as a wave of dizziness overtook her.

Mrs. Scully frowned. "I don't know what to tell you, Dana. I'm real. We're both right here."

"Both? You and...?" Scully prompted, not daring to guess who else might be present.

"The man who saved my life," Margaret explained. "And yours."

"Mulder?" she asked hopefully.

Her mother shook her head sadly. "Fox is dead, Sweetheart. Has been for quite some time."

She shook her head vigorously. "No," she argued. "That's not possible. I was just with him! The world was ending, and he was sick...everyone was sick...this must be some sort of hallucination." She squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep, shuddering breath. "God."

When she opened her eyes again, her mother was still there. "Oh, honey. What can I do to help?"

Scully steeled herself, desperately trying to figure out a way out, and summon the courage to do what it took to execute such a plan. She instantly decided upon the first step.

"I want to see him," she told Maggie. "The...man who saved our lives."

Mrs. Scully nodded. "He's looking forward to speaking with you."


	3. Chapter 3

The sight of him, once again, made her blood run cold. Yet she knew, if she were to get out of whatever scenario he had her trapped in, her only hope was to deal.

"Agent Scully," he addressed her amiably as he approached her bedside, where she lay propped up on several pillows, "you're not going to spit on me again, are you?"

 _Not for lack of desire_ , she thought, but she held her tongue. "I was told you wished to speak with me, so go ahead, talk, tell me what's going on. I'm listening."

His sinister smile elicited a shiver, which she attempted unsuccessfully to hide.

"Are you comfortable, Dana?" he asked with mock concern. "Would you like another blanket?"

"What I would like," she told him matter-of-factly, not even trying to hide her annoyance, "is an explanation."

The cigarette-smoking man sighed dejectedly. "Very well. What do you remember?" he asked.

She frowned at him, wondering how much she should reveal, but opted, in lieu of better options, for the truth, or at least an outline thereof. "I remember a plague affecting most of the people in the country. I was immune. Mulder wasn't. I devised a treatment, and was about to administer it to him when a craft appeared overhead and, I can only assume, abducted me. You abducted me. And brought me somewhere horrible, and then here. Why?"

Spender sneered at her. "There was no plague and no craft," he told her. "You've been ill, Dana, and you've only recently gotten better. I'm sure a psychologist would have much to say about your dreams, though. Saving the world! What a fantasy."

She looked him angrily in the face. "I want to go home."

"But you are home, Dana," Spender told her. "There's nowhere else for you to go."

She looked around her, but her surroundings, while comfortable, were unfamiliar.

"I want to go to Mulder's house," she tried.

"Didn't your mother tell you?" Spender asked her. "Mulder is dead. There is no house."

She eyed him suspiciously. "Just how many of my memories are you disputing?" she asked warily.

The cigarette-smoking man sighed. "Does it matter? You're safe here. You can have whatever you want. I'll make sure it's provided to you."

"What I want is to see Mulder," she insisted. "I don't believe a word you're saying about his death, about any of it. I believe everything I remember happened, and you're holding me here against my will."

"Well," he responded, "I'm not sure what I can do about that, except give you time to come to an understanding on your own. Let your mother know if you need anything; she knows how to find me."

And with that, he exited the room, leaving Scully frustrated and confused. Once more, she attempted to rise from the bed, but was halted by a severe bout of vertigo and her own aching muscles.

As the door closed, tears again began to fall down her cheeks, and even though she was alone and nobody was there to see, she instinctively covered her face with her hands.


	4. Chapter 4

Suddenly Scully felt a weight on the bed, and small arms reaching around in an attempt to embrace her from the side.

"Mommy, don't cry," said a high-pitched voice.

Raising her head, she looked over to see a little girl...a _familiar_ little girl, with a chubby face, strawberry blonde bangs and shoulder-length hair, and big blue eyes, which were looking dolefully up at Dana.

"Emily?" she whispered, disbelieving.

"I know how to make you feel better," the little girl offered. She then puffed out her cheeks to make the 'Mr. Potato Head' face Mulder had shown Emily so many years ago when he had first met her. Scully was momentarily stunned into silence, remembering.

"Who taught you that?" she finally asked when she found her tongue.

"Daddy," the little girl answered sadly. "Don't you remember?"

In response, Scully raised her hand to her mouth once more and choked back a sob.

"I miss him," sighed Emily wistfully.

"Me too, Sweetheart," Scully found herself replying as she put her arm around the little girl and held her close, rubbing her little arm.

"Grandma told me to come and bring you some soup," the little girl explained, snuggling into her. "I put it down over there," she said, pointing to the nightstand, "when I saw you crying. I think I might have spilled a little."

Despite everything in her mind telling her that this apparition wasn't what she thought it was, Scully felt compelled to play along, for the girl's sake—she simply didn't have it in her to be brusque or rude in response to the sincerity exuded by the innocent child—or what positively appeared to be.

"It's okay," she told the girl. "We'll clean it up."

With that, she released the child and reached over towards the soup. Briefly, she considered whether she ought to refuse the offering, as it might be drugged or otherwise inadvisable to consume, but her stomach grumbled, and she knew she would have to eat something if she wanted to regain her strength and escape from wherever she was.

As she lifted the bowl and grabbed a tissue to wipe up the small spill, the familiar scent reached her nostrils, absolutely compelling her to take a bite. And when she finally did taste it, the flavor filled her with comfort and nostalgia: it was, in fact, the soup her mother _always_ made her when she was sick.

In the back of her mind, she still worried that something was amiss, but with the affectionate child at her side, looking positively gleeful to see her mother eating, and with the hearty soup that had healed her on many an occasion slipping down her throat, she allowed herself just a moment of simple pleasure while she contemplated her next move.


	5. Chapter 5

Dana Scully awoke to the sound of a crying baby, and suddenly realized she was experiencing a long-forgotten but still familiar sensation: a pressure in her bosom, bordering on pain, along with the rush of adrenaline that came with the instinct to tend to the distraught child.

She slipped her legs over the side of the bed and stood, then immediately regretted it as black spots started to form in front of her eyes. She quickly grabbed onto the bed to steady herself, then sat back down upon it and put her head between her knees, sighing with frustration.

At that moment, Mrs. Scully came through the door, cuddling the infant, who seemed to calm slightly as she rocked it. She eyed Dana, who had looked up when she heard her mother enter. "I'm so sorry, Sweetheart," she told her. "We didn't mean to wake you. Are you okay? You shouldn't be out of bed."

"I'm fine, Mom," Dana lied. "Just stood up too fast. I didn't even realize I'd fallen asleep again. Thank you for the soup, by the way." Maggie smiled and nodded at her, and before she could think through the implications of her next request, she continued, "May I hold him?"

Mrs. Scully couldn't hide her slight surprise, but willingly placed the child gently into Dana's arms, but remained protectively close to the pair.

Looking down, Scully recognized the infant as her own son. _But that's not possible_ , she reminded herself. _William is a teenager now_.  
  
_And Emily is even older...or would be, if she had survived_.

Suddenly Dana gasped, realizing one logical conclusion to explain the evidence that had been presented to her since she woke up in this room the first time. _We're dead, all of us, including William_. Tears sprang to her eyes, and she didn't even notice that the baby was nuzzling at her breasts, which were beginning to leak, forming little wet spots on her nightgown around her nipples. _No_ , she insisted to herself, _I'm not going to accept that possibility. Besides, would that mean Mulder is still alive, since he's not here? Why, then, would everyone be saying he's dead? I feel alive; I must be alive; I just have to figure out how to get back to reality._

Maggie shot a meaningful look at her daughter. "I think he's hungry," she assessed. "Do you want me to leave so you can feed him?"

Now Dana looked down and realized what was happening, but in a moment of panic, worried she wouldn't know what to do. "No, that's okay," she told her mother. "Please stay. I mean...if you don't mind." With that, she looked up at her mother, allowing her to see the myriad of emotions that plagued her at the moment.

"Of course," Maggie responded, putting an arm around Dana briefly, then reaching for the infant so Dana could reposition herself.

The younger Scully sat back against the pillows and lowered one of the straps of her nightgown to expose her breast, then the older Scully placed the child back into her arms, and he immediately latched on and began sucking hard. Dana drew in a quick breath, then exhaled slowly as the initial sharp pain subsided and was replaced by an overwhelming sense of euphoria she vaguely identified as a hormone rush.

It was only then that she realized that this was a _new_ sensation: she'd chosen not to nurse William so many years ago, because Mulder had left her alone again, and as a single working mother, she'd felt that the demands of breast feeding would have been too much for her to handle.  
  
Or at least, that was her excuse. In truth, she'd needed to keep somewhat of a distance between herself and her son, both because of her fears as to his true nature, and the implications that continuing to be physically connected to him might have for both of them if he wasn't completely human, and also because in the back of her mind, she always knew she might have to give him up, and needed to prepare to make that transition as easy as possible for both of them.

But now, she was getting a second chance to do everything the way she would have, had other factors not interfered.

 _This isn't a second chance_ , she reminded herself. _It's an illusion._

She realized, then, that William—or what appeared to be—had unlatched and fallen asleep in her lap.

Startling her, as she'd forgotten her mother was still in the room, was Maggie's voice, "Do you want me to take him back to his crib?"

Dana looked up and nodded vaguely. "Yeah." Then, fearfully, she added, "Where's Emily?"

Carefully taking the baby from her so he wouldn't wake, Maggie looked approvingly at her daughter. "She's in her room," Mrs. Scully explained. "She was hoping to spend some more time with you, but I told her to let you rest after you fell asleep before. Shall I go get her? She'll be ecstatic."

"Yes, please," answered Dana. "I'm looking forward to spending some time with her too." _I never did get to spend much time with her. Now I'll actually have a chance to get to know her._

Then she reminded herself that none of this was real, that the Emily she would be getting to know was just a fantasy, possibly one created by her own subconscious, or worse, a trap devised by the Cigarette Smoking Man, and that she should be focusing on gathering information in order to find her way out of here.

But a part of her didn't care.


	6. Chapter 6

A small, warm body made a harder-than-anticipated impact when hurling itself into Dana Scully's waiting arms, causing her to audibly grunt.

"Gentle, Emily!" Margaret Scully chided. "Your mother's still recovering."

The young girl spoke without turning around, causing her voice to be muddled in her mother's chest. "Sorry, Grandma."

Dana stroked the girl's back and cuddled her for a moment, relishing the feel of her against her chest. "That's okay, Emily. I'm glad you're here." Then she pulled away, shot a meaningful look at her mother who disappeared through the door, then motioned for the girl to sit down beside her once she'd gotten her attention. "Can we talk?"

At that, Emily looked suddenly worried. "Am I in trouble?"

Dana shook her head. "Of course not, Sweetie. It's just that I'm having a little trouble remembering, and I was hoping you could help me out. Will you do that for me, answer some questions?"

Emily nodded. "I'll try."

Dana smiled at her. "Thank you. And by the way, thank you for bringing me the soup earlier. It really hit the spot. You didn't have to do that."

"That's not a question!" Emily objected. "You're welcome, though. Grandma says that since you took such good care of me when I was sick, I should do the same for you."

Dana gulped, suppressing a sob. "That's sweet, Emily, but you don't owe me anything, okay? I'm your mother...it's my job to take care of you. Just like Grandma took care of me when I was little."

"Someone has to take care of you!" Emily objected. "And Grandma and I are here."

Dana nodded and reached out to stroke the girl's cheek. "I know, and I appreciate that, but I don't want you to miss out on anything. Is there anywhere you'd like to be now, for example?"

Emily looked around guiltily before finally replying. "Well, I wanted to go to the playground. But we couldn't leave you here alone, and you're not strong enough to come with us."

"Oh," Dana replied, a lump once again rising from her chest into her throat. "I promise I'll take you as soon as I can, okay?"

Emily nodded.

Dana took a deep breath before continuing. "You ready for some hard questions?"

Emily nodded again.

"Have I always been your mother?" she asked.

Emily shook her head sadly. "I don't remember my other mother," she admitted. "I was too little. But I remember you came and took care of me after she left. Grandma says she died. But Grandma also says you were always supposed to be my mother."

"What do you mean by that, Emily?" Dana asked carefully, rubbing the girl's arm to encourage her.

"Get-icky or something?" Emily tried.

"Genetically?" Dana offered.

"Yeah," Emily replied, nodding. "Get-in-icky. They took me away from you when I was really small, then you got me back later."

"Do you ever wonder what it would have been like if I hadn't found you?" she asked, heart beginning to increase its pace in anticipation of a disturbing response.

"Sometimes," Emily admitted. "But Grandma says what's important is that someone loves me and takes care of me. And I have both you and Grandma, so I'm very lucky."

Dana nodded. "Would you feel the same way if I'd given you up on purpose? That they didn't take you away, but that I gave you away?"

Emily looked scared for a moment. "You didn't, though, did you? Grandma said you didn't even know I existed until you found me."

Dana smiled at her. "That's true, but I'm just wondering...what if? Do you ever wonder what if?"

Now Emily nodded, seeming to understand. "I guess...it's the same no matter what. As long as someone loves me and takes care of me, it doesn't matter who. Some little girls don't have anyone, so I should be glad for what I have. But I think I'd miss you if it were someone else."

"Even if you didn't remember me?" Dana prodded.

Emily touched a hand to her chest. "I think I've always remembered you here."

Dana couldn't stop the tears running down her cheeks, and wasn't able to reply verbally, so just gathered the girl into her arms again and held her tight.


	7. Chapter 7

Gradually, Dana grew stronger until she was able to walk around the house and help with light chores—which, at first, her mother objected to, but soon relented as she saw how much it meant to her daughter to be able to contribute to the family in whatever way she could. Dana Scully had never been happy letting others take care of her, even when she was unable to take care of herself. Even as a small child with a skinned knee, she'd been fascinated with the process of cleaning and dressing the wound—just one of many precursors to her eventual pursuit of medicine in a more formal capacity—and after observing her mother doing it once, had attempted the next time to do it herself, eliciting anger and dismay from her parents and older siblings, though she'd always wondered if her mother wasn't secretly proud of her daughter's independence and gumption.

Here, now, Dana at first attempted to ask questions about this new reality: what illness she'd had, how she'd gotten there, how Emily, Margaret, and William had ended up alive and well and with her there. Her questions, however, were easily deflected, with Margaret seeming more annoyed every time—though always, as ever, patient with her skeptical daughter—saying only that the Cancer Man had saved them all and brought them here, and that much of Dana's recent memories were merely an hallucination brought on by her illness. Eventually Dana gave up asking, and set off to find her own answers. Mulder had taught her well: trust no one—not even your own mother—and always keep looking for the Truth. At least, she'd like to believe she was carrying on his legacy, but that might mean admitting he was really gone, and she wasn't ready for that. Not again.

Plus, she was happy here. At least, she was happier than she remembered having been in a very long time. That is, a very long time as she'd experienced it; she was no longer sure of the meaning of time as she existed within it; Einstein's twin paradox held nothing to the conundrum she currently found herself within, and the evasive comments of those around her always found a way not to reveal too much. When she'd asked point-blank what the date was, she'd been told that it didn't matter. No time pieces or calendars were evident anywhere, so she couldn't check for herself.

As soon as she felt she was able, Dana offered to take Emily to the playground, with baby William in tow. As she loaded up the double stroller with water, snacks, and a diaper bag, Margaret offered to accompany them, but Dana insisted she'd be fine alone, that she needed some time to herself with her children, and understanding how much it would mean to her, Margaret reluctantly agreed, but did not attempt to hide the worry in her voice as she consented.

The brightness of the sun was momentarily blinding as Dana walked outside. She put a hand to her forehead to shade her eyes, and as they adjusted, the perfection of the suburban neighborhood was revealed. There wasn't a piece of trash on the ground, an angry neighbor, a noisy dog, or even a badly-parked car anywhere in sight.

Arcadia came to mind. She wondered whether there was a monster lurking here, too, something she would need to fight.

Without Mulder at her side this time.

She desperately hoped not.

"Mommy, why aren't we moving?" came a high-pitched voice, snapping her out of her reverie.

"Sorry, Emily," Dana said, beginning to push the stroller forward. "You'll tell me how to get there, right?"

"Just keep going, Mommy! It's just past the next block!" Emily told her exasperatedly.

Dana couldn't help smiling at the little girl's impatience. Her own childhood was full of similar moments she'd forgotten. A warmth spread within her chest, overwhelming her fears and misgivings.

This felt right. It was everything she'd ever wanted. A second chance at motherhood and family, without aliens or conspiracies or paranormal phenomena snatching everything away.

Almost everything.

What she really wanted was all of this, plus something—someone—that could never coexist with it. Mulder would never be able to tolerate such a plain existence. It was one of the things that eventually drew them apart; they wanted different things out of life, so it made sense for each to pursue their dreams separately. Thinking about their split still made Dana sad, though if this new reality were to be believed, it had all been a bad dream, borne of her own fears and grief, coupled with the mysterious illness that had waylaid her for an indeterminate amount of time.

"Right there, Mommy!" came the little voice once more, concomitant with a small hand poking out of the stroller, pointing ahead and to the right.

Dana pivoted and moved towards the gate, then entered. She parked the stroller next to several others under a large Elm tree, then unbuckled Emily. William was asleep, so she left him be, sat on a bench next to the line of strollers, and watched proudly as her daughter ran off to the structure and began to play.

"Look at me, Mommy!" Emily called as she swung from the monkey bars and climbed up a pole. Intermittently, Dana looked over at the slumbering baby, taking note of the way he sucked his tongue in his sleep.

Suddenly, she heard a scream, and rushed over to see what had happened.

Emily was on the ground, holding her knee and crying.

Dana squatted next to her and gently took hold of her daughter's leg, moving it ever-so-slightly to make sure nothing was broken. When she was satisfied that it was only a scrape, she picked up the girl in her arms, then carried her to the bench and sat her down. By now, Emily's tears had abated, and she watched with wide eyes as her mother retrieved a small first-aid kit from the diaper bag and began cleaning and dressing her wound.

Five minutes later, with a band-aid covering the abrasion, Emily insisted upon returning to play.

Dana sat once again and smiled, feeling for the first time that she was exactly where and when she was supposed to be.

Almost.


	8. Chapter 8

It was dinnertime when they returned, and William had emptied his mother's breasts twice during the time they were out, so Scully was ravenous.

Still, the feast that Margaret laid out seemed exorbitant. "Mom?" Scully asked. "Unless William has suddenly become a teenager," and then she paused, suppressing the twinge rising in her chest at the thought, "there's no way we can finish all this food."

The older Scully smiled warmly. "We're having guests, Dana. They'll be here in a moment."

Dana blinked. Guests? Was she ready for anyone outside her family to see her? Would she be able to make small talk, appear her professional self, even though she'd spent the last few days...weeks?...mostly in bed, fending off bouts of tears between cuddles with her newly-found long-lost children? "Anyone I know, Mom?" she managed to blurt out.

Margaret grinned. "I think you'll be pleasantly surprised."

Just then, the doorbell rang, and in walked three very familiar people. Scully's eyes grew wide as each one in turn approached her enveloped her in an enthusiastic embrace. "Byers! Langly! Frohike!" she squeaked as they hugged her.

"But...you're dead!" she finally pointed out, blinking fiercely against the tears collecting in her eyes.

Margaret sighed and spoke to them. "She said the same thing about me. Just...give her a bit of time."

They ignored the older Scully. "We're not dead, I promise," said Byers.

"We can explain," Langly added. "Probably. Maybe."

"If we were dead, could I do this?" Frohike asked, leaning forward and pecking Dana on the cheek, letting his lips linger a moment longer than necessary.

At that, Dana screwed up her face slightly and began to laugh, shaking her head. "I will figure out what's going on."

"We don't expect any less," Byers answered.

"When do we get to eat?" asked Langly. "I'm starved, and that," he continued, eying the spread, "looks amazing."

"Thank you," said Margaret. "Dana was out all afternoon, and I might have gone a little overboard, but I wanted to make sure everyone had enough to eat. Please sit, everyone."

After the meal, mostly consumed in silence with the occasional break for small talk, Dana began to feel a familiar heavy feeling wash over her. She'd hoped to have a heart-to-heart with the Lone Gunmen: if anyone could help her figure out what was going on, they could—but she quickly realized that she was far too tired to carry on a coherent conversation, let alone any sort of investigation.

"Can I help you clean up?" she asked her mother, even as her eyes drooped.

Margaret shook her head. "No need. You look beat...why don't you go up to bed?"

She looked questioningly at the men, who had risen from the table and were helping to clear it. "We've got this," Frohike assured her. "Go get some rest. Mothers always know best."

"I was hoping we could talk," Scully answered.

Now it was Byers' turn to address her, and he leaned down and whispered in her ear conspiratorially. "I don't think it's a good time."

Feeling cornered and too exhausted to fight, Scully nodded, then addressed all three of them. "All right, but promise me you'll come back soon. I really do want to catch up."

"We will," Frohike told her.

"Promise," added Langly.

"Come on, Mommy," said Emily, who had somehow managed to change into her pajamas while the adults finished eating, and was now pulling Dana's arm. "If you're going upstairs too, you can tuck me in."

Scully nodded vaguely. "Yeah. Yes, of course, Sweetie."

After Dana put her daughter to bed, Margaret brought her the baby, who nursed himself to sleep in her arms, then was whisked away before she could even kiss him goodnight.

Dana had no idea whether the Gunmen had left yet when she succumbed to fatigue, drifting into slumber almost before her head hit the pillow.


	9. Chapter 9

Scully couldn't remember ever having been in such excruciating pain. This was far worse than childbirth, worse than cancer, worse than chemotherapy...every molecule in her body seemed to be alternately on fire and ice-cold, and she wanted to scream, but she was completely paralyzed.

The coolness of her skin as the hot tears evaporated from her cheeks was the only relief she got as she became aware, by touch, of the multiple metal and plastic instruments currently attached to various parts of her body. She managed to point her eyes forward enough to note that even her breasts had been attacked: they were currently covered by what seemed to be a hideous version of pumps...sucking milk out of her?! Whatever they were doing, it hurt, and she wanted it to stop, but there was nothing she could do.

A face swam into her vision...she thought, perhaps, it would be the Cancer Man, but instead, it was someone else, someone she'd longed to see.

Hope rose in her chest, momentarily overwhelming the agony.

She tried to say his name, but her lips would not move.

 _Please help me_ , she thought, as hard as she could, hoping he could somehow hear her inside his own head.

She saw him reach down towards her and she was ready to let go, to surrender into his arms, to be one with him in a way she hadn't in quite some time.

Then she realized he held a syringe in his hand.

 _No, please, don't_ , she thought desperately.

He paid her no mind...this was not the man it appeared to be. Was it? It couldn't possibly...

The man who looked like her partner injected her with something, though she could barely feel the prick of the needle above the underlying all-consuming pain.

And then she lost consciousness.

She awoke, choking and gasping, the pain receding slowly, but concentrated now in her bosom.

An apparition appeared near the window: translucent, smiling faintly—the same face that had provided comfort turned quickly to horror just a few minutes ago, at least as she'd experienced it. He was mouthing words...she held her eyes wide open in an attempt to make them out...he seemed to be saying "Don't give up," but she wasn't quite sure.

Finally, she was able to scream, and she screamed his name.

Her mother came dashing into the room, and she turned her head towards the doorway reflexively as she heard Margaret utter her own name in panic, then looked back at the window, dismayed to find that the apparent ghost had disappeared entirely.

"Mom," she sobbed defeatedly as her mother sat on the bed and took her into her arms, then rocked her as she had when Dana was just a small child.

"It's okay, Sweetheart," she muttered. "It was just a dream."

"Hurts," Dana managed to choke out. "So much pain."

Now the older Scully pulled away worriedly, then placed a hand on her daughter's brow. "You're warm," she observed. "What hurts?"

Dana squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, assessing her own condition, attempting to summon the calm doctor within her, with little success. "Mostly just my breasts," she admitted, taking deep breaths between sobs. "It hurt everywhere before, but it's a little better now."

Margaret frowned. "I think you've got mastitis," she surmised. "Let me get you some medicine and a warm compress, and I'll see if I can wake William to nurse, if you can stand it."

It was then Scully realized she was sitting on wet sheets. She couldn't possibly have sweated that much from the nightmare, could she? Or worse?

"Mom, I have to get up," she admitted. "The bed's wet...I'm so sorry. I don't know what happened."

To her dismay, her mother chuckled. "Looks like your breasts leaked a bit, Dana. It's perfectly natural, and it means you're starting to produce more...you're getting better, from before at least. I'll get you some fresh sheets too, okay? But first, let's get that fever down."

A little while later, lying on fresh linens and holding a warm compress to one breast while William nursed from the other, Dana looked over at her mom, who was eying her suspiciously.

"Thank you," she told her honestly. "I'm so sorry I woke you. And hopefully I didn't wake Emily."

"Nonsense, Sweetheart," Margaret argued. "I'm your mother. I'll never stop taking care of you."

 _Even in death_ , Scully thought to herself, but she bit her tongue.

"And Emily's sleeping like a log. Now," Margaret continued, "will you tell me what's really bothering you? Nightmares aren't normal for you...at least they haven't been for years."

Scully chewed on her lip for a while before answering, wondering if her mother was referring to her time on the X-Files, during which her frequently nightmarish life often bled into her dreams.

"I saw Mulder," Scully admitted. "Or I thought I did. And I thought I wanted to go back with him...but he turned on me, betrayed me." She began to cry again. "I don't know who to believe, what to believe anymore."

Margaret's eyes grew wide. "You're home, Dana, with the children and me. You're not looking for 'the elusive Truth' anymore. You gave that up years ago...you said something about not wanting that darkness in your life."

Scully nodded, remembering having said something along those lines to Mulder, but never to her mother, and wondering briefly how her mother knew as she absent-mindedly dropped the compress into her lap, leaving her arm free to gesticulate. "I know, Mom, but I'm having trouble accepting this...reality. It's not right. I'm not supposed to be here."

"Oh Dana," Margaret sighed. "You're exactly where you're supposed to be. It's your doubts that don't belong. Ever since you were a little girl in Sunday school, you had no trouble with your faith. Have faith now, Dana. Don't you want to be here? Don't you think God sent you here for a reason?" She reached out and touched the cross around Dana's neck for emphasis as she retrieved the compress from Dana's lap with her other hand.

"Mom," Dana replied, fingering her necklace idly. "Don't get me wrong; I'm grateful for all your care, and I am so happy to be with you and the children...but I'm still not sure where 'here' is, and I'm pretty sure God wasn't the one who sent me."

With that, Margaret shook her head sadly and stood up, gathering the now-sleeping-again baby from Dana's arms. "Then I can't help you," she admitted. "You need to make your own decision, to accept what is, or not. Let me know when you've got it figured out." Then she walked out the door and closed it behind her.


	10. Chapter 10

Alone in her room in the middle of the night, and suddenly with no desire to go back to sleep, Dana Scully was about to give in to her tears, but was interrupted by the sound of tapping at her window.

Thinking it was just the wind, she got up to investigate, only to see a hand up against the glass. She almost screamed, but stifled herself with a quick hand over her mouth. In that moment of forced silence, she heard the unmistakable sound of voices—familiar voices.

"I told you this was a bad idea."

"She wants to see us...she said so."

"Then why isn't she letting us in?"

"Maybe because we're not at the door, doofus!"

"That's because we didn't want to alert Margaret!"

"I know _why_ , duh. But we're going to scare her."

"She'll forgive us once she sees us."

"I hope you're right."

Instantly she dropped her hand and breathed a sigh of relief, then opened the window, allowing the three men to come through.

"What are you doing here?!" she stage-whispered, torn between anger, surprise, and just being grateful for the company.

"We promised to come back soon," said Frohike.

"You wanted to talk," added Byers.

"So here we are," said Langly.

"But why through the window? Never mind, I overheard. But geez, guys, you're making me feel like a teenager, sneaking boys in through the window." She clucked in mock disapproval.

"Is that a good thing?" Byers asked curiously.

Scully rolled her eyes. "It's fine. Come in. Have a seat." With that, she motioned for the men to sit on the bed beside her, which they did, awkwardly, Byers and Frohike on one side and Langly on the other. "Okay, so let's start at the beginning. Where, exactly, is here?"

The three men eyed each other in panic before Byers finally spoke. "Honestly, Dana, we're not sure. We've asked ourselves that but...somehow it doesn't seem that important anymore."

Scully blinked furiously, shocked at the admission that these three truth-seekers could have given up on what seemed to be their most fundamental quest.

"What's more important to you than that?" asked Scully suspiciously.

At that, Frohike grinned, then grabbed Byers' left hand, holding it up so Scully could see the ring. "John's married."

Scully's eyes grew wide. "To whom?"

"Suzanne Modeski. Remember her?" Langly supplied.

"I thought she had to go into hiding. Wait..she came here?!" Scully asked incredulously.

Frohike nodded. "Yup, and then sent for John, who brought us."

"Why didn't she come to dinner?" asked Scully.

Byers looked embarrassed, so Langly explained. "They've got an infant. Suzanne thought it best to stay home with the baby; she was tired and didn't feel up to coming, but also we didn't want to spring too much on you all at once, given your recent illness."

For a moment, Scully contemplated asking about the aforementioned illness, about which she still had not gotten a straight answer from her mother or anyone else, but figured she could broach the subject later if they had answers to her other questions and seemed knowledgeable. Otherwise it would just be  a waste of breath. "So this is some sort of...witness protection program?" Scully asked.

"Something like that," Frohike answered. "We honestly don't know much more...but we don't really want to, because if we find out too much, our lives will be in danger...again."

"This is so unlike you," Scully accused. "All of you. You would have given up anything for the pursuit of the Truth."

"You're right, we're not really here," said Frohike teasingly.

"Melvin!" objected Byers. "Be nice!"

Frohike held up his hands in surrender. "All right, I'm just joking...or am I?" He waggled his eyebrows.

Langly slapped Frohike playfully. "Knock it off." Then he addressed Scully, "Once upon a time, yes," admitted Langly, "but not since searching for the Truth left us with literally nothing. We've since learned that there are more important things in life."

At that, Byers made a blissful face, seemingly lost in contemplation.

"Byers has, at least," Scully conceded, "but what about you two?" She looked at Frohike and Langly in turn. "What have you guys got?"

"We're helping the Byers with the house and the baby, for now," Frohike explained, "but Langly's got a teaching position at the local school, and I'm doing volunteer work, reading to seniors and stuff, while I look for something else."

Scully stared at the three men in turn for what seemed like several minutes before she finally shook her head. "No, this isn't real. You're not real. Frohike wasn't joking...I refuse to believe any of this...and if you can't help me get out, I'm not sure who can." She bit her lip.

The men exchanged worried looks, seeing that Scully was on the verge of tears.

"What do you want to do?" asked Langly.

"Maybe we can still help," said Byers.

"We just want you to be happy," Frohike told her.

"Okay," Scully tried, taking a deep breath. "Just humor me for a moment. And I realize that if you're not really here—well, forget it, just—if this isn't real, what could it be? A hallucination? An elaborate ruse, set up by the Cancer Man? It wouldn't be the first time he's deceived me...or someone else."

The reference to Mulder's experience was not lost on them, and they all simultaneously looked down at the floor, as if in remembrance.

Frohike was the first to look up and back at Scully. "Well, theoretically you're immortal," he reminded her, "so maybe you're hundreds or thousands of years in the future, and this is all some sort of holographic simulation?"

Scully screwed up her face in disbelief. "That sounds like something out of Star Trek."

"It is," admitted Langly. "But you have to admit, it's a possibility."

"I can't believe I'm entertaining this—," Scully started.

"You said you wanted us to humor you," Byers pointed out, interrupting.

"But if that's the case, why? Why this particular scenario? And why are you all here, but Mulder isn't?"

Frohike looked solemn. "I don't think we can answer those questions, Dana. Perhaps reality was too painful, and you selected a fantasy you were comfortable with?"

"I'm not comfortable here!" Scully insisted. "And besides, why wouldn't I remember what happened before?"

Byers gave her a concerned look. "Maybe you didn't want to remember."

Langly added, "Or maybe you're a computer too...and you ran out of memory."

Frohike said, "Oh come on, now we're getting really ridiculous. No way holograms precede her capacity to remember her life. Or doesn't she know about Moore's Law?"

Scully sighed, waving her hands in dismissal. "It's okay, guys. I think I get the point."

Frohike sighed with relief in return, "Good, because I didn't want to be a figment of your imagination."

"We were just humoring you, like you wanted," reminded Langly. "We're as real as you are...I think."

"Yeah, that's what I'm worried about," Scully answered. "That I'm not as real as I think, whatever that even means. I guess I'll have to have a chat with C.G.B. Spender."

"We can get him for you," Byers offered. "If you'd like."

"Of course you can," Scully sighed dejectedly, before getting up and then ushering them back out the window, all the while contemplating how strange the whole scenario seemed.


	11. Chapter 11

Dana Scully awoke to the stench of tobacco smoke coming in through her window; apparently it hadn't been shut properly after the gunmen had left. Quickly, she dressed and went outside to find C.G.B. Spender standing in the garden, calmly puffing on a cigarette.

He turned to her and stated cheerfully, "Ah, you're awake! And might I say, looking much better. I was told you wanted to see me."

She nodded. "I want to go home," she stated simply.

"Ah, but Dana, you are home," the Cancer Man insisted. "What makes you think otherwise?"

"This isn't real," Scully asserted. "None of it. It's impossible. Half the people here are dead. Maybe all of them."

"I saved your life, more than once," Spender retorted. "What makes you think I couldn't have saved theirs? Do they seem dead to you?"

Scully remained resolute. "They don't _seem_ dead, no, but they don't exactly seem alive either. My guess is this is some sort of hallucination or virtual reality, and the only reason I can think why you'd want me here instead of in the real world is because someone in the real world needs me, someone you want to keep me from getting back to help. And I'm guessing that person is Mulder."

"I told you, Dana, Fox Mulder is dead. Nobody is sadder about that than I, but alas, I couldn't save him."

"Bullshit," spat Scully. "Now I'm even more sure that he is not only alive, but needs my help. I will find a way out of here; if you won't help me, maybe someone else will."

Spender shrugged, then took another puff of his cigarette before speaking. "If you insist on pursuing this, I can't stop you, but I'm afraid your efforts will prove fruitless. My offer to bring you anything you might need or want—within the limitations of possibility, of course, but I'm capable of quite a lot, as you can see—," he waved his hand around, indicating the near-perfect world she was currently a part of, "still stands. But you know what they say, if you want to get back to Kansas, just click your heels together three times and say 'There's no place like home.'"

"You have got to be kidding me," Scully scoffed.

The smoking man smirked lightly. "It's worth a try, isn't it? I'll bet Fox would have considered it."

"No he wouldn't!" objected Scully. "You had him trapped in some sort of illusion, like this, and he didn't manage to get himself out at all - _I_ rescued him, with some help from people you subsequently had assassinated. And if I could rescue him then, I can rescue myself now. I'll just have to figure out how."

"Remember, Dana, there are people here that need you: your mother, your children, your friends if you would bother to make room for them. That's why I brought you here. But as I said, if you insist upon ignoring the people here in order to chase ghosts, be my guest. Nobody can stop you; we can only wait for you to return—if you can return. Remember, not all roads are two-way streets. Good luck."

With that, he dropped the butt of his cigarette on the ground and stepped on it, then walked away.

Dana reentered the house to find her mother cooking breakfast. Ordinarily, the aroma would set her stomach growling, but after the conversation she'd just had, it was making her slightly queasy.

"Sit, honey," her mother insisted. "Have some breakfast. What were you doing outside? And without a sweater! It's nippy!"

"No it's not, Mom," the younger Scully replied easily. "It must be sixty-five out there. I was fine...am fine."

"Still, you had a rough night; have some pancakes," offered Margaret.

Dana sat, but replied, "I'm not very hungry, Mom. Maybe later."

"All right," said the older Scully, "but breakfast won't be hot forever. No complaining that it's cold after waiting 15 minutes to decide you're hungry."

"Mom!" Dana objected. "I haven't done that for years! Besides, I'm a mom now too...I've gotten used to cold meals."

Margaret chuckled slightly at that, then changed the subject. "Are you going to tell me what you were doing outside?"

"Um, yeah," Dana said, steeling herself for a potential argument. "I was talking to the Cancer Man, C.G.B. Spender. Asking him what I need to do to...uh." She stopped, realizing she had no idea how to tell her mother that she didn't believe in her existence and wanted to go back to reality.

Margaret immediately froze, then turned around, seeming to have forgotten all about the pancakes as she stared at her daughter, wide-eyed, for several long moments before finally speaking. "Don't do this, Dana," she pled. "Stay with me, here. With Emily and William. We love you, and we want you here, with us."

Dana chewed her lip as tears began to form in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Mom," she said sincerely, "I wish I could, but I don't belong here. And I'm convinced someone else needs me, somewhere else. But anyway, I don't even know if I'll succeed."

Margaret just stared and shook her head sadly, watching her daughter visibly fight her guilt. Finally she added, "At least say goodbye to your daughter if you intend to leave. She's just got you back and she is going to be devastated if she loses you again."

Dana nodded, then changed her mind. "I'm not sure that's a good idea; I may not be able to go through with it after I see her."

"Wouldn't that mean perhaps that you shouldn't 'go through with it'?" her mother retorted angrily.

Just then, Emily walked through the door, then wrinkled her nose. "What is that smell?"

Dana put a hand over her mouth, then quickly dropped it. "Oh! Mom, the pancakes are burning!" She got up to help, but was waved off as her mother turned around and quickly rectified the situation, dumping the burnt pancakes directly into the trash, scraping the pan, then starting a new batch.

"Mommy!" Emily cried as she came to Dana and wrapped her arms around her legs.

Dana picked the little girl up in her arms and hugged her tightly. "I love you, Emily, you know that right?"

"I love you too, Mommy," Emily said, then added, "Are you going away again?"

Dana blinked furiously, attempting to hold the tears at bay. She put the little girl down, then knelt before her, looking directly into her eyes. "I don't know, Sweetheart," she admitted. "But if I'm needed somewhere else...if someone else needed me more than you, would it be okay if I did?"

Emily shook her head 'no' and started to cry. "Stay, please, Mommy. Stay with me and William and Grandma."

"Oh, Emily," Dana sighed, pulling her back into her arms.

Just then, William's cry pierced the air.

"Go, Dana," ordered Margaret. "He sounds hungry. Maybe you'll get your appetite back after you feed him. I'll take care of Emily."

Dana pulled away and squeezed Emily's shoulder before rising and heading towards the baby's room.


	12. Chapter 12

The baby was indeed hungry, as he quickly drained both of Dana's aching breasts, providing her only partial relief from the pain that her mother had surmised had indicated an infection. Afterwards, he cooed and waved his arms, and she held him to her chest, cherishing the feel of him in her arms, trying to commit this moment to memory, even if it wasn't entirely real. She bent down and kissed William's chubby cheeks, then allowed her tears to fall as she held him close and murmured into his hair.

"Mommy loves you," she told him, even though she knew he wouldn't understand. "I gave you up once, and I can do it again. It's only for the best, but God, I'm going to miss you." Fighting the lump in her throat and the heaviness in her chest, she rocked him back and forth, more for her comfort than for his, then gently set him down on his back in the crib, where he happily flailed underneath the mobile. She half expected the mobile to begin spinning on its own, but it remained still, another indication that wherever she was now, did not exist in the same reality to which she was accustomed.

The cigarette-smoking man's words in the garden echoed in her head: _Click your heels together three times and say, 'There's no place like home.'_ It was a joke, wasn't it?

Joke or not, it was all she had.

Feeling immensely silly, she stood up, closed her eyes, and snapped her heels together: one, two, three, then mumbled, "There's no place like home, there's no place like home, there's no place like home."

She was about to open her eyes, expecting to prove the futility of her ritual, and berate herself for being duped by the Cancer Man yet again, when suddenly she felt her knees give way, and she fell to the floor, then lost consciousness.

When she awoke, she was in a field: a field she immediately recognized as the one she had, in happier times, walked through with Mulder, hand-in-hand, speaking of God and trumpets. But now she was alone, and awkwardly, her legs protesting every step, she arose and stumbled towards the house.

With difficulty, she climbed the stairs to the porch, then rapped on the door.

She waited, and nothing happened.

She was about to search for the spare key—she wondered whether it was in the same place, after all these years—and feared what she might find once she entered without permission—when the door opened, and Fox Mulder appeared behind it, looking surprised and confused to see her, but also appearing to be perfectly healthy. As he took in her appearance, worry washed over his face, but he seemed otherwise frozen, neither speaking nor moving towards her.

Unable to wait any longer to feel his physical presence, she threw herself into his arms, much as she had done on their very first case together, when she had spotted what had later turned out to be mosquito bites on her back and thought they might indicate something far more sinister. Like he had then, he reflexively put his arms around her, rubbing her back until moments later, he felt her calm slightly.

He pushed her away, holding her shoulders at arms' length, and asked, "What's wrong, Scully?"

Suddenly she lost her voice, and her face crumpled as all she could do was weep. She rose her hands to her face even as her knees began to buckle, but Mulder was quick, and caught her under the shoulders, then picked her up in his arms.

She buried her face in his chest, and he carried her into the house, then deposited her onto a bed, tucking her in and feeling her forehead for fever before sitting beside her, hand on her leg as she covered her face with her hands once more and struggled to compose herself.

"It's all right," he soothed, sounding only moderately concerned, which should have been a red flag.

Finally, she took a deep breath and uncovered her face, then lifted her gaze to survey her surroundings.

What she saw caused her to gasp with shock and immediately attempt to rise out of the bed, despite the aches in her muscles and the sharp pain in her chest that resulted from her movement.

She was in the same room she'd woken in with her mother at her side, down to the identical paintings on the wall, which she hadn't bothered to take much notice of before, but now seemed eerily familiar.

Mulder's hand on her shoulder stopped her from rising.

"Let me go!" she pleaded in a strangled whisper as the tears stung in her eyes.

"I would, but I don't think you're in any condition to be going anywhere," Mulder assessed. "Just rest, Scully; I'll call a doctor and we'll find out what's wrong."

With that, he leaned forward and began to stand up, but she grabbed his wrist and begged, "Wait!"

He sat back down. "I can't help you if I don't know what's wrong," he objected. "Talk to me, Scully. Tell me what's going on."

She gulped, then took another deep breath, trying to collect her thoughts and decide how to proceed. "The plague," she got out. "Is everyone cured?"

Mulder eyed her curiously. "What plague?"

"There was an illness, affecting most of the people in the United States," she explained desperately. "You were dying; so was most everyone else. I was safe, because of my alien DNA, and I formulated a cure from my blood, and was about to administer it to you when I was apparently abducted."

Mulder frowned at her, but did not speak.

"What?" she asked, her eyes begging him to understand.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Mulder told her. "I'm fine, but from what I can see, you're the one who's sick. Can I call a doctor now? Or should I just take you to the hospital myself?"

Scully shook her head. "This isn't real either."

Mulder blinked and stared at her. "Either? Scully, you're going to have to help me out here, because I'm totally lost."

"No," Scully answered sadly, "I'm pretty sure I'm the one who's lost."

 


	13. Chapter 13

Mulder's eyes betrayed the pain of his struggle to understand what was going on with his erstwhile partner and paramour. "Scully, talk to me," he begged softly.

She shook her head. "I've got to go."

He frowned before speaking. "No, Scully. Not until you talk to me. And besides, you're not going anywhere without my help."

Tears once again pricked at the corners of her eyes as, determined, she attempted once more to rise from the bed, but found her weak muscles confirming Mulder's assertion.

"I need to save your life," she insisted. Then, "Mulder's life," she corrected. "I don't know who you are—maybe you're a figment of my imagination—but Mulder's out there somewhere and he needs my help."

"I'm right here," he insisted firmly but gently. "Please, Scully, tell me what's going on." When she looked reluctant and afraid, he continued, "If I'm a figment of your imagination, then I'm here for a reason. I'm of some use to you. But you have to engage with me."

Her eyes grew wide at the word, causing his to sparkle with amusement as he clarified, "You know what I mean."

She sighed. "All right. I guess it can't hurt. After my mother died—."

He cut her off. "Whoa, Scully, I didn't know! I'm so sorry. When did this happen?"

She bit her lip, trying not to break down again at the devastating thought of her recent loss, compounded with the fact that she had just a few minutes ago given that and much more up once again, voluntarily. She attempted to focus, instead, on figuring out what exactly this apparition knew and wanted to know. "You were...Mulder was there for me. A few weeks ago. It wasn't exactly my finest moment, but he supported me through it."

Mulder's form eyed her curiously. "You sound surprised. You don't think I'd be there for you no matter what?"

She shook her head against the pillow. "Once upon a time, perhaps, but not now, not since we parted ways."

"Parted ways?" he queried incredulously. "After all we've been through together? Wh-why would we do that?"

She tried her best to remain composed and continue her story, lest she get bogged down in emotion and lose her train of thought. Figment or no, she was pretty sure this version of Mulder would, if she so much as indicated her need, gather her into his arms and hold her for as long as she wanted, which might be forever, and if another version of him still needed her, it was imperative she not allow herself such a distraction. "It's not important. Anyway, we reconnected professionally, but not so much personally, not until you helped me through...you know. But then, we had a tough case, terrorism. You took a hallucinogenic trip, and we were aided by a pair of young agents, Einstein and Miller. She was a medical doctor, and a skeptic, and he was a war hero and a believer."

He chuckled slightly. "Sounds like us...well, except the war hero bit. Did Agents Einstein and Miller have first names?"

She frowned, thinking. "I assume so, but we never learned them."

"Right," Mulder answered skeptically. "And then what happened?"

"There was a plague," Scully continued. "People started getting sick and dying. My blood was the key to the cure. But you'd disappeared, and as soon as I found you—you were in bad shape, and I wasn't sure if I could save you, but I had to try—a craft appeared overhead, and then I blacked out. When I woke up, I was with my mother, in this bed, in this room."

"I thought you said your mother died," Mulder replied.

"This was obviously another reality, a fabrication," Scully went on. "And it wasn't just my mother...Emily was there too. And William. And they were the ages they were when I last saw them."

Mulder's eyebrows crept up in surprise. "And you didn't want to stay with your family?!"

"Oh God, Mulder, I wanted to, more than anything!" she told him. "But I couldn't. They said you were dead...but obviously it was a ruse. I don't know why they wanted to trick me into the fantasy, but it almost worked."

"How did you get out?" Mulder asked.

Scully's eyes closed for a moment in contemplation before she replied. "I, uh, clicked my heels together three times and said 'There's no place like home.'"

"You're joking," Mulder shot back, laughing heartily. "I've seen 'The Wizard of Oz.'"

"Apparently so has the Smoking Man," Scully told him somberly. "And it was his idea. I thought it was a joke too...but obviously it wasn't, because here I am. With you."

Mulder's face contorted slightly with disbelief. "And you think _I_ am the figment of your imagination? This all seems so farfetched, Scully...and that's coming from me."

"Or the version of you...Mulder...inside my head," Scully corrected. "Which, since it's part of me, maybe is more like me. Unless of course, I'm keeping a part of you...him...inside of me, in which case it should be more like you. God, I'm so confused."

"Then don't be," he insisted. "Just stay here and let me take care of you." With that, he grabbed her hand in his own and squeezed gently.

She was tempted: here, a reality in which she and Mulder had never split, her mother was presumably still alive, and they still shared this home together. She looked around again, and was reminded that this room, at least, did not belong to the home she had shared with Mulder once.

"No," she said, her voice tinged with sadness, though no animosity. "I'm not buying it."

He sighed, rubbing his thumb along the back of her hand. "What can I do to convince you?" he asked.

"Tell me the date," Scully insisted. "And explain to me how this room came to be here, since I have no memory of it."

She saw him swallow before speaking. "Honestly, I don't know the date. I stopped keeping track when I stopped having to go to work every day. I'm sure we can look it up, though. And as for this room, I have no idea why you don't remember it. It's yours."


	14. Chapter 14

Dana Scully awoke to the familiar and excruciating sensation of acute lower abdominal distention, accompanied by what felt suspiciously like rhythmic uterine contractions.

She screamed. Or rather, she opened her mouth, only to fail to find her voice. Her eyes grew wide with horror as she observed her surroundings: she lay on a hard, metal table, and her legs were in stirrups. Her belly protruded upward, obscuring her field of view. Surrounding her were several figures dressed head to foot in what appeared to be white Hazmat suits; she could not see their faces.

Memories surfaced unbidden. She remembered yelling, "Don't let them take my baby!" She wondered if one of the hidden faces was that of the woman who had attended her birth, one who had recently proven to be, at least in part, a traitor, partnering with the man who was responsible for most, if not all, of Dana Scully's suffering over the last quarter century.

Surrounded by animals and super soldiers, she had been frightened she would never see her child again, yet somehow those who she'd expected to take him from her had withdrawn without their prize, leaving her alone and safe.

But not safe enough.

Remembering her determination to keep the child that she would later name William, after Mulder's father, and her later willingness to give him up, never to see him again, tears sprang to her eyes.

It was happening again, but this time they would seize her baby immediately, as it was never hers to begin with. And what right would she have to it, even if it had been? She'd let one die, and given another one up; why should she be allowed to keep a third, especially one of whose conception and gestation she'd been heretofore unaware?

Warm salt water trickled down her cheeks and into her ears as she attempted desperately to suppress the overwhelming urge to push.

It was too late.

She felt the child slide out of her birth canal and then saw it briefly cross her field of view then disappear into the shadows in the hands of one of the figures in white.

In utter despair, and in tremendous pain her attendants seemed in no hurry to alleviate, she lost consciousness.

She awoke, once more, in the now-familiar bed, and startled herself into a sitting position, only to cause more acute abdominal pain.

Involuntarily, she cried out, and this time, her voice obliged as she collapsed back onto the mattress.

Suddenly a large, male figure was with her, cradling her in his arms.

"It's all right, Scully," he murmured. "It was just a fever dream. You're okay."

"No, I'm not!" she wanted to scream, but words still failed her, and all she could do was to sob brokenly into his chest.

Suddenly another long-forgotten sensation overcame her and she realized her body was about to, yet again, betray her.

She didn't have the strength or time to prepare, instead observing with horror as her stomach contents spilled out of her mouth and all over her, the bed, and the man attempting to comfort her.

"I'm sorry," she tried to say, but she could only continue to cry.

He rubbed her back, seemingly unfazed by the situation. "It's okay," he repeated. "I'll get us cleaned up in a moment."

Simultaneously she wanted to beg him to stay and to tell him to go away forever and leave her alone with her shame.

Gently, he lay her back down onto the bed. "I'll be right back."

True to his word, he returned shortly with supplies and began cleaning her up: tenderly wiping her face and gently squeezing the foul-smelling muck out of her hair before removing the ruined comforter and sheet and replacing them with fresh ones. He placed a cool cloth on her forehead before disappearing again with the soiled linens, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Although she'd been cleaned up, she couldn't get the recent sight of the disgusting mess out of her mind. She'd identified enough stomach contents in her time doing autopsies that she knew exactly what she had just expelled: the only problem was that she had no recollection of having eaten it, at least not recently enough for it to still be in her system.

After a time, Mulder returned once again, his wet hair glistening. He sat beside her on the bed, then took her hand in one of his while using the other to brush a strand of her own damp hair off of her cheek. "Can I get you some tea...or an anti-emetic?"

She shook her head. "No thanks. But maybe you can tell me, how did you get my mother's chicken soup recipe?"

He blanched. "Obviously I didn't get it right," he pointed out. "But you asked that before. She gave it to me over the phone, said it would make you feel better when you were sick. Don't you remember?"

Scully shook her head. "I don't even remember eating it," she admitted, then changed the subject. "So my mother's alive here?" she asked incredulously.

The man sighed. "I can't say for certain, but she was alive when she gave me the recipe a while back. I haven't talked to her since. Do you want me to call her?"

Suddenly Scully dreaded learning for the second time that her mother was deceased. "No, that's okay."

"You sure? I'd be happy to—."

She cut him off. "No, thank you." If her mother was dead, she didn't want to know. And if she were alive...she didn't want her to see her like this, not again. Memories of her mother's agonized face by her bedside as she lay dying of cancer flashed through her mind, and guilt flooded once again into her chest.

"Where is William?" Scully asked abruptly.

Mulder's face contorted painfully. "I don't know, and neither do you. He was two days old when I last saw him, and I wasn't around when you gave him to the adoption agency."

At least some things hadn't changed.

"You know," Mulder went on, "you're really worrying me. These lapses in memory, they're getting worse, aren't they?"

She didn't know how to answer, so she just stared questioningly at him.

"I don't want to lose you," he admitted, "but most of all, I don't want to lose you piece by piece as you lose yourself."

"What are you saying, Mulder?" Scully asked now, more curious than fearful in her confusion.

"Do you remember what the doctor said?" he asked her gently.

"What doctor?" Scully asked.

"The one I called when you first came home sick," Mulder told her.

"I don't...what did he say?" she prompted.

He sighed sadly. "He diagnosed you with early-onset Alzheimer's, Dana. I'm not going to patronize you by explaining your prognosis; he already did that when he was here." A tear ran down his cheek as he spoke. "And you opted against antibiotics for the infection that's making you sick right now. I argued with you, but you'd made your decision, and I couldn't go against your wishes. If you can't fight this," he continued, his voice cracking, "I'm going to lose you forever. But you said that was better than having your mind go first."

She shook her head. "No, this can't be. It isn't right."

"You'll get no argument from me," he agreed.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry this update took so long! RL has been full of surprises...mostly good ones, but all demanding of my time and energy. Big thank you to anyone who is still following!

"I have to go," she managed to mutter sleepily, although the warmth of the covers enveloped her and threatened to pull her back into the land of nod. She wanted desperately to stay right here, like this, indefinitely, in the comfort of a soft bed and under the watchful gaze of her attentive erstwhile partner, regardless of whether or not any or all of it was an illusion. _But_ , she reminded herself, _this is exactly why I have to leave; I must escape the allure of temptation. I must escape this reality before it pulls me in._

The ex-partner's face became stricken; a tear slid down his cheek as he vaguely nodded his head. "I understand. I just...it's totally selfish, but I want you to stay."

Her own eyes began to water; his grief seemed so palpable even though she had accepted that he was but an apparition. "I know, and I'm sorry." Then, hopefully, she added, "I'll see you again soon?"

Though it didn't seem possible, his face became even sadder than before, as if he wanted very much to believe something he knew for certain was untrue...which, for Fox Mulder, was quite a rarity. "Yeah," he choked out. "Soon."

He took her hand, and she gave it a gentle squeeze. "We'll be together again," she squeaked out, mostly in order to reassure herself.

He responded only with a sob - the painful sound of one who has lost everything he knew he had, and then something more.

She closed her eyes, and repeated the ridiculous words in her head, embarrassed to speak them aloud. "There's no place like home, there's no place like home, there's no place like home." It occurred to her that she was no longer sure what "home" even meant anymore. The saying was that home was where the heart was, but she'd just left two different "homes," each populated by at least one person who loved her dearly and was completely devoted to her. Yet somehow her heart wasn't in either place, and therefore she couldn't call either home. Was it just a knowledge that they weren't real? Or was it more than that, an inability to accept happiness after all she'd been through? A need for conflict, for pain?

At the thought of pain, she was suddenly in the thick of it: not just any pain, but the nearly unbearable pain she'd almost forgotten.

She felt the sting of needles over her entire body, and the burning of unknown substances being injected under her skin. Hammers pounded inside her skull, acid was eating her from the inside out, cramping her internal organs, and she was simultaneously freezing and on fire. And once more, she was paralyzed, unable to move away from any part of the assault. Tears escaped from under her closed lids, and for a moment, she wished for death.

And then she remembered her mission, her purpose. She needed to live so she could save Mulder.

A Mulder she could hardly remember. One with whom she'd fought, split, and to whom she'd returned reluctantly, hesitantly, and uncertainly. She realized with considerable distress that she had no clue where they stood with each other. Images of the Mulder who painstakingly tended to her every need and cried at the thought of losing her were fresh in her memory. She reminded herself that this was not the real thing; that this Mulder existed only inside her head.

But he'd felt so real.

And so wrong.

And there it was.

She struggled to open her eyes, and a figure swam into her field of view...

For a moment, all she could see was a blur, with an appendage moving rapidly towards her.

Dread bubbled in her chest, but still she could not move, so instead she attempted valiantly just to focus her vision.

Sad eyes. Drawn cheeks. Thin-pressed lips. And a far-too-familiar countenance. Déjà vu as she realized, once more, that it was a familiar hand which held a similar syringe to that which had been used to inject her before, in what she now no longer could reliably identify as dream, reality, or something in between.

She wanted to scream, to refuse, but was completely unable to react, save for the few tears that escaped her eyes and ran down her cheeks into her ears.

She braced herself for impact, but barely felt the needle amidst the sensation of all the others. She thought she saw him mouth the words, "I'm sorry."

She closed her eyes. She couldn't see this, not again.

And then, suddenly, the pain was gone.

She opened her eyes once more.

He was still there, but this time, he spoke aloud to her. "Can you move?"

She tried. First, she wiggled her fingers. They obeyed. Her toes too. With relief, she nodded her head.

"Good," he told her. "We have to get out of here."

Fear overtook her now. Was this really Mulder, or another apparition? She'd had this vision before...and it didn't have a happy ending.

"Now," he added sternly. "I can carry you if..."

"No," she managed to blurt out, then, with difficulty, sat up and swung her legs over the side of the table on which she lay. She slid down to the floor, then gripped the table, her knuckles turning white as her shaky legs threatened to give out on her.

He held out his hand, and she looked askance at it.

"You'll never make it on your own," he assessed. "Let me help."

"Why are you here?" she asked, not yet willing to take his hand. She half expected him to be an alien shape-shifter, though why one of those would be rescuing her, she couldn't fathom. He couldn't possibly be trying to take her somewhere worse than she had just been, for such a place could not possibly exist.

Or could it? She reminded herself that even imagination has its limits.

On the other hand, she didn't seem to have much of a choice. The prospect of staying here, of being reattached to the equipment, tested on, violated...if she had an opportunity to escape, she should. Shouldn't she?

She needed something more. Some piece of evidence that she was doing the right thing, or at least moving in the right direction.

"Who are you?" she asked directly, trying to keep her voice steady.

His face became a mask of utter pain, but just for a moment, as he seemed to realize that it wasn't that she didn't remember her partner, but that she didn't actually believe he was here.

"It's me, Scully," he insisted, his voice cracking slightly as he dropped his hand to his side. Then he reiterated, "We have to go."

"Why?" she asked, standing firm, even though she felt as if she could collapse at any moment.

"You want to stay here, Scully? They'll kill you. He'll kill you." He looked at her: helpless, pleading.

She still didn't buy it. "Why? And who?"

"You know who," Mulder answered quickly. "And you can probably guess why."

"If you're Mulder, then how are you alive?" she asked the man. "Last I saw you, you were dying, and I didn't have the means to save you."

He looked as if he were about to cry. " _He_ did," Mulder explained. "He had a cure, and he offered it to me, and I didn't take it...until he changed the game. Said he was a hopeless romantic, and couldn't let one of us live and the other die. So he took you...and I agreed to take the cure if he wouldn't kill you. I'm sorry. I couldn't let you die."

She _almost_ believed him.

"Please," he begged again. "Come with me. I did this for you."

"You made a deal with the devil," she observed. "You just injected me with God knows what; you probably don't even know what it is, and I'm pretty sure it's not the first time." Then, even though she knew her words would hurt, she enunciated her question clearly so there would be no mistake, "Why should I trust you?"

Though it didn't seem possible, his face contorted with even more pain and regret. "Because you always have, Scully. You told me once that I was the _only_ one you trust."

"Things change," she pointed out, bitterness infusing her speech. "I left you." _More than once,_ she added internally _._

She held her breath for a moment, waiting for him to tell her she was out of her mind, that their split had never happened. To reveal once more that what she thought was real was just another illusion.

But he didn't.

"I shouldn't have let you go," he admitted. "I gave up on you, and I'm not going to make that mistake again."

"All right," she conceded, as much because she felt she had no alternatives as because she wanted to believe this Mulder was the real deal, after all the hallucinations that she'd been interacting with of late. "I'll go."

He held out his hand once more, and she took it.


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, apologies for taking so long with this, and many thanks to those who are patiently sticking with me. Real Life as always must take priority, and so far I'm pretty sure which one that is...though I could be mistaken...

Scully could hear the mewl of a newborn baby. It was a hungry cry, an angry cry. The child clearly had been calling for its food for some time now, and was being ignored. Her breasts tingled in reaction, and a sharp pain shot through her abdomen. She attempted to locate the origin of the sound: to find the baby, to feed it, to relieve the pressure building in her bosom. Upon determining the correct direction, she crept forward, slowly.

The door was closed, but the noise was unmistakably emanating from behind it.

She pushed the door open. It creaked.

What she saw shocked and frightened her.

The baby was hooked to various medical devices, and in her estimation, must be in a considerable amount of pain. Tears came to her eyes as she froze before attempting to make her way into the room, her medical brain quickly assessing how to safely disconnect the child in order to rescue it.

The door slammed closed in her face, startling her.

She gasped, opening her eyes, as bright sunlight flooded her view through the car window. She brought a hand to her forehead, shielding her eyes from the glare.

She took a moment to take stock of her surroundings. She was in the car, with Mulder. They were going...home? She vaguely remembered attempting to walk out of the facility where he'd found her...been held with her? Her hand in his, she'd taken only a few steps before faltering, and he'd awkwardly caught her, then carried her the rest of the way to the waiting vehicle, much to her chagrin. Unlike the Mulder in her personal fantasy - at least as she now understood it - this one strained as he walked with her, and his body offered little comfort as he did so.

Her heart was still pounding from the nightmare. She looked over at her companion, who was glancing worriedly at her in brief intervals while nominally focusing on the stretch of open road ahead.

Vague nausea was building inside her, her medical training identifying it immediately as a likely result of her elevated heart rate. Hastily, she rolled down the window, hoping some fresh air would help to restore her equilibrium.

Mulder looked back at her. "Do you need me to pull over?"

"Mmm," she whimpered weakly, and he nodded, then slowed the car to a stop along the shoulder of the deserted highway, then reached over to unbuckle her seat belt for her.

Scully opened the door as he eyed her worriedly, but was determined to get her body under control, and with several deep breaths, was able to do so. She closed the door again and re-buckled her seat belt.

"Feeling any better?" he asked, and she almost gasped, remembering those same words coming from someone else, a lifetime ago, yet in similar circumstances, when she was barely pregnant with her first-born and desperately searching for his father: the man who now sat beside her, watching over her, seemingly lost as to how to help her.

 _Did I ever really find him?_ her mind supplied. It had never occurred to her before that the Mulder she got back was not the one she lost. Certainly his experience had changed him, as her experiences had changed her, but could there be more than that?

"Who are you?" she remembered hearing from his lips, and a pang of regret formed within her chest at repeating those words back to him when he had come to rescue her from her most recent peril. Of course, when he'd said it, it was a joke...but still, she'd been cruel.

 _With good reason_ , she reminded herself, images of alternate versions of him flashing through her mind.

"Scully?" he repeated, his voice low, almost tender, but also ever-so-slightly tinged with impatience. "You okay?"

"Yeah," she replied, shaking off her reverie. "We can go. I'm fine."

His lips pursed into a frown, his face showing he didn't quite believe her. She sighed; she hadn't the energy to argue or explain herself. Not now.

He didn't reply, but simply turned on the ignition and pulled back onto the road while she rolled her window back up, leaving it open a crack and pretending to be fascinated by the scenery behind it.

They completed the rest of the drive in silence, Mulder stealing glances at his companion periodically, and Scully doing her best to remain stoic, to not reveal any of her inner turmoil, even while she attempted to process it herself. Most importantly, she resolved to stay awake, because she had no desire to revisit any of her nightmares.

Finally, they reached the gate, and she motioned to get out of the car and open it, but he held his hand up, stopping the car and getting out before she could. As he returned, she glared at him, but he remained unfazed.

They pulled up at the familiar house, and now he let her exit the car, but he quickly ran around to her side, protectively shadowing her as she climbed out, then offering his arm, which she reluctantly took, not wanting a repeat of her earlier collapse.

As they approached the door, they quickly spotted the figure calmly seated on the bench, smoking a cigarette.

She let out a small yelp. "Jesus Christ, what the hell is he doing here?"

"I don't know, but I'm going to find out," Mulder responded, stepping in front of her, as if to shield her from harm. She huffed with annoyance, but hadn't the energy to push past him.

The man smiled at them. "Greetings, you two. So nice to see you up and about."

Mulder held a hand in front of Scully to prevent her from approaching further. "What are you doing at our house, you bastard?" he asked. "Haven't you taken enough already?"

The man held a hand to his heart in mock pain. "You wound me, Fox. I was only making sure you had somewhere to go. You see, it is my house now; I made sure to buy it from the bank after they foreclosed. It seems you were a bit behind on your mortgage payments. However, I'm happy to allow you to stay here. I won't even charge you rent, seeing as I know your financial situation."

"No thanks," Mulder replied automatically. "I'll find another way."

"You've been gone a long time," the man chided. "I think you'll find the world isn't what it once was. You may have more difficulty than you think."

"The plague," Scully muttered. "Is he saying what I think he's saying?"

Mulder looked back at her, alarm written all over his face as he gently touched her arm.

The man slowly got up and moved towards them, tapping his cigarette and allowing the ashes to blow away in the mild wind. Scully suppressed a cough.

"You needn't worry; the plague has been cured, thanks to you two. You've got what you wanted; you saved the world."

Mulder looked back at him disbelievingly. "We? I certainly didn't do anything."

The smoking man tapped his cigarette again, then made his way back to the bench before addressing them again, pointedly ignoring Mulder's implicit question. "You may stay here or not, as you wish. But you no longer have jobs or assets; you were both declared legally dead during your absence. Something I could not prevent, alas, while protecting you."

Mulder glanced back at Scully. She silently conveyed to him her exhaustion and resignation, which the elderly Spender seemed to notice as well.

"Whatever you decide, at least come in and have some refreshment. You both look tired; I'm sure you could use a rest before you attempt to restore your lives."

Overwhelmed with desperation and exhaustion, the two former agents reached for each others hands, then with a squeeze, made a joint decision, which Mulder voiced aloud. "All right, but only because I want to know more about what's happened."

The smoking man grinned at them. "So pleased to have you as guests," he responded lightly, getting up from his perch once again, this time discarding the cigarette butt and crushing it under his foot after he rose. "Come in. I hope you don't mind; I've done a bit of redecorating."

Warily, Mulder and Scully followed him inside, and he motioned for them to sit on the couch while he disappeared into the kitchen. They didn't notice anything different at first, but on a hunch, Scully made her way through the living room and opened the door to the room that was once Mulder's office, where he'd continued to pursue his conspiracy theories while she was off treating children for devastating illnesses, trying unsuccessfully to make up for the loss of her own.

The room was changed, drastically. Inside it was a bed: a familiar bed, and on the walls, familiar decorations in lieu of the newspaper clippings and photographs she'd been accustomed to seeing push-pinned to a cork board. She gasped audibly. "Mulder?" she called, gesturing with her hand for him to come quickly.

He ran to her side, and his face fell as he snaked an arm around her shoulders.

"We've got to get out of here," Scully insisted. "Now."

"Are you sure you won't have a cup of tea?" Spender called out to them as they made a beeline out the door.

They didn't respond, but instead raced into the car in order to make their getaway.

"What now?" Scully asked her companion once they were safely back on the open road.

"We need to find Skinner," Mulder replied. "He'll be able to help us."

"I'm so tired," Scully admitted.

"Me too," Mulder agreed. "But I promise we'll be okay." He took his right hand off the wheel and laid it upon Scully's thigh.

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Mulder," she responded bitterly, crossing her arms in front of her and turning her head to look out the window.

He put his hand back on the wheel.


	17. Chapter 17

Scully felt the cold slab against her back as she struggled against her restraints. Indistinct figures surrounded her, creeping up upon her, threatening. Her heart leapt into her throat.

One of the figures drew close to her face...its face... _his_ face...swam into view. "Scully," he murmured softly.

She shook her head, not wanting to believe, not wanting to be here, again, with her erstwhile partner now conspiring with her captors.

"Scully!" he said again, this time louder, even agitated. His hands came to her shoulders, and she tensed reflexively. "Wake up!"

She gasped, then blinked furiously as she panted to regain her breath.

Finally, she realized her surroundings, and after a deep breath, spoke. "Where are we?"

"Motel," Mulder explained. "I stopped by Skinner's...you were fast asleep, looked like you needed the rest. He wouldn't even let me in to talk...not sure what's up...but he sent me away with this." He held up a credit card.

"They'll track us if we use it," Scully recited tiredly.

Mulder nodded. "But we need food, and clothes, and a place to stay...all things dead people don't need, and we're supposedly dead. So unless you want to go panhandling with me...besides, it's probably not a bad thing for Skin-Man to know where to find us. You know I have trust issues, but I'm pretty sure he wants to protect us. He didn't even seem surprised to see me."

"Panhandling sounds good," Scully shot back dryly. "Can't be too careful." Then, glancing down at her faded outfit, "And the clothes I'm wearing are already appropriate for that."

Mulder frowned, then realized she was joking, and responded with a weak smile. "Come on, Scully, let's go get you into a bed so you can rest more comfortably."

"Mulder, as far as I can tell, I've been in bed for months, maybe years. And the last thing I need right now is bedbugs." Her voice was tinged with deep pain and regret.

"Fine, then come in and have something to eat with me," Mulder offered. "I think they have room service."

"I'm not hungry," she retorted, "but I do need to stretch my legs. Get out of my way."

Looking hurt that she didn't want his help, he obliged, moving aside so she could exit. He poised to catch her, though, in case she was weaker than she imagined.

Disapprovingly, he noted her caution as she moved, but although he hovered near, he did not venture to touch her without her permission. She stood by quietly as he checked them in, stealing glances back at her every few seconds; the concierge eyed the couple curiously, but did not voice any particular concerns. He opted for one room with two queen beds; even though she had reservations about sharing, she assumed he would not allow her a room alone, even if they weren't charging it to a borrowed credit card. Although she wouldn't admit it, certainly not to him, she was vaguely grateful for his watchful company.

When they entered the room, she went directly to the bathroom, where she relieved herself, splashed water on her face, and rinsed out her mouth. As she exited, Mulder was standing sheepishly near the door.

"Will you be okay if I go out for a bit to get us some supplies? Um, do you want to come with?" Mulder asked tentatively.

"I'll be fine," she responded flatly, "and no, I think I'd rather stay here." With that, she sank down onto the small couch and grabbed the TV remote. "Maybe I can catch up on some of the news; see what we've missed."

"I don't have a phone or any way for you to contact me," he reminded her. "Just, call Skinner if you need help, okay?"

She nodded absent-mindedly. "Yeah."

He returned with several grocery bags including food, drinks, and toiletries.

She didn't acknowledge his presence.

"Hi," he tried, but got no response. He began to unpack the food, and laid it on the coffee table before her.

"You've got to eat something," he insisted. "I don't know when the last...just please eat, for me."

With that, she slowly turned her head and looked at him. "All right," she agreed.

After a few tentative bites, she discovered that she was hungry. Ravenous even. Mulder had brought back enough to feed a large family, and between the two of them, they demolished most of it, and he couldn't hide the satisfied look on his face, seeing her eat heartily.

"I guess I was hungrier than I thought," she acknowledged, now beginning to feel the sleepiness that often accompanies a large meal after a long fast.

Despite her desire not to waste any more time asleep, she felt herself nodding, and was barely aware as Mulder cleaned up and then brought a blanket from one of the beds over to the couch. He peered at her for a moment, perhaps considering whether to carry her to the bed before opting just to tuck her in where she was. She hoped he would leave her be, and he did.

She was awoken by a knocking at the door, and mercifully did not recall any dreams. She was just shaking off her initial disorientation when Mulder opened the door and ushered Skinner inside. Quickly, she sat up and threw the blanket aside.

"It's good to see you," Skinner told them in his gruff voice, then stole a concerned glance towards Scully. Awake enough to read his face and anticipate his question, she announced, "I'm fine."

Skinner nodded. "Glad to hear it."

Mulder motioned to the chair next to the couch. "Have a seat," he offered. "Can I make you some tea?"

He shook his head. "I can't stay," he admitted. "I shouldn't even be here. But I wanted to make sure you two were safe."

"With all due respect, Sir," Mulder offered, "Why all the secrecy?"

Skinner frowned. "It's complicated. I'll be in touch. Just sit tight for now, lay low. I know it's frustrating, but I need you to trust me."

With that, he disappeared.

Mulder turned to Scully. "That was weird."

She shrugged. "I suppose."

Mulder furrowed his brow. "Are you sure you're okay, Scully?"

She looked him squarely in the eye and repeated, "I'm fine."

He crossed his arms in front of him and shook his head. "No, you're not."

Scully sighed. "You're right," she conceded, "I need to pee." With that, she got up and disappeared into the bathroom.


	18. Chapter 18

As she sat on the closed lid of the toilet seat, head in hands, attempting to stave off the inexplicable lump in her throat and stinging sensation in her eyes, images flowed through Dana Scully's mind: William. Emily. Her mother. The mysterious baby that kept appearing in her dreams. The last image was blurry but packed a gut-punch she was unaccustomed to receiving from mere apparitions borne of her own imagination. As she bit her lip to avoid crying out audibly—the last thing she needed right now was to summon the other inhabitant of the hotel room—she searched the depths of her soul for an explanation. The only thing that came immediately to mind was that her guilt over giving up William was personifying itself as another child. But why now, and why a newborn? Was she hoping for some sort of do-over, another chance to raise a child of her own? Surely even her subconscious knew that ship had sailed a long time ago.

It didn't make a whole lot of sense, and she was sure Mulder would have a better explanation, but she wasn't yet ready to share her fears, let alone the specifics of her visions, not with this version of Mulder or anyone else. There was a time when she would have shared almost anything with him—when she knew it was really he—but even then, she was guarded with her most tender emotions. Once, she'd figured it stemmed from a fear that appearing weak would jeopardize her chance at equality within the partnership. She'd discovered later that what she dreaded was much more than losing her pull at work. Mulder treated her with kid gloves often enough that it didn't seem to make a difference whether she kept a stiff upper lip in the face of unimaginable pain and danger, or whether she let it all out in his arms. On the odd occasion when she did let him in, it seemed not to affect their working relationship at all, at least not on the surface. Strangely, it was when she refused to confide in him that he grew angry, creating a distance between them. And somehow it hadn't worked in reverse: when he hid things from her, it only drew her nearer, as she knew he would need her close to save him when inevitably he ran himself amok.  
  
He'd run away again, and almost got killed. And she'd chased him, as usual, in an attempt to save him.

But this time, she'd failed. Or he hadn't needed saving. And he ended up saving her. It didn't sit well in her heart or her mind. Something just didn't add up.

And in the meantime, an emptiness was building inside her, like a tiny singularity, sucking her very essence into itself and leaving a vacuum in its wake. The last time she'd felt like this had been when she'd buried Mulder after he'd been returned from his abduction, cold and stiff. When, against all odds, he'd been resurrected, she had been instantly healed, filled beyond measure with a warmth and comfort that could not be explained by the life growing within her. But he, or at least something resembling him, was here now, and yet she still ached inside. Was this new hole borne of the loss of her mother, or was it something else? And if Mulder's presence couldn't fill it, what could? Or was his presence insufficient because the man on the other side of the wall wasn't Mulder at all?

A sharp knocking at the door of the bathroom snapped her out of her reverie.

"Scully, are you okay? You've been in there a long time. I'm coming in!"

Before she could object, he'd opened the door, which thankfully she hadn't thought to lock, as she couldn't imagine how they'd pay for the damages had he kicked it in. Too many years of living with him, too many monsters behind locked doors: they'd had an unspoken agreement to leave all doors between them unlocked, if closed, and that went for the metaphorical ones too. There was always a line of communication open for when they needed it.

But right now, she had no desire to communicate.

And right now, it seemed, he wasn't going to give her a choice.

He peered at her hunched form with tense worry in his eyes, studying her for signs of what was wrong.

"Talk to me, Scully," he ordered, his voice cold and shaky.

She sighed, then looked up at him. "About what?"

He crossed his arms. "Something's bothering you. And don't tell me you're fine; I know you're not."

She met his probing gaze with a defiant one of her own. "I don't want to talk."

He recoiled slightly, looking more hurt than she'd expected. "Then what do you want to do? Other than hog the bathroom?"

She studied him for a moment, ignoring his lame attempt at humor, then decided upon a reply with which he was bound to agree, no matter who he really was, unless...well, she'd soon find out. "I want to figure out what the hell is going on," she told him matter-of-factly.

He nodded. "All right. How?"

She shrugged. "Library seems like a good start. Let's find out what's happened in the news since I've...since we've been gone."

"Okay," he agreed, and held out his hand to pull her up from her perch.

Tentatively, she took his offering, and side by side, they walked out the door.

Half an hour later, they sat in front of computer screens at the D.C. Public Library, scouring Google for clues.

It only took a moment for Scully to find the plague. The epidemic had struck just over a year ago, killing tens of thousands of Americans before being publicly diagnosed as a rare strain of influenza. A vaccine had emerged, then, and the CDC had obviously hurried it through in an effort to save as many lives as possible. Scully shuddered to imagine what precautionary steps had been skipped because of the nationwide emergency.  
  
Shoving aside her shock at the length of time she had apparently missed, she attempted to trace the origin of the vaccine, and found it was issued by a new pharmaceutical company that had not existed before, and, apparently, no longer existed. "Damn," she swore under her breath as she searched for names associated with the firm.

When she finally found one, she swore again, this time a bit louder, as her companion heard her and was instantly at her side. "What is it, Scully?" he asked earnestly. "What did you find?"

Dumbstruck, Scully just swiveled the screen so that he could see, then pointed at the relevant name.

"Well, I'll be damned," Mulder remarked. "What's Old Smokey up to now?"

"And more importantly," Scully added, finding her tongue, "what does it have to do with us?"


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry about the extreme delay continuing this. But now I've got a deadline (the release of S11...yay!) so I'm motivated to finish more quickly.

Cancer Man stood alone, on the other side of the room, holding the baby, rocking it gently and murmuring to it quietly. Scully couldn't make out the words.

She took a few steps towards them, and the elderly man raised his eyes to meet hers. "Agent Scully, would you like to hold the baby?"

She gulped and nodded.

He laughed. "In time, perhaps," he responded. "But not today."

She swallowed her ire, having learned to anticipate this sort of derision from Spender. "Whose baby is it?" she asked, dread rising within her chest.

"Mine," Cancer Man replied easily. "I created her. With your help of course. And Mulder's. Not that you knew."

Scully blinked and took a step backwards. "She's mine?"

"No, Dana." Scully suppressed a flinch at the use of her first name. "I told you, she's mine. I chose to bring her into existence, and I knew you would approve of the reason."

"And what reason is that?" Scully retorted, curiosity and anger warring within her.

"To save lives, of course. It's the only thing I've ever wanted, and I know you want it too." Spender replied smugly.

"And how is she going to save lives?" Scully asked dubiously.

"Scully!" she heard. The voice was urgent, pleading, and unmistakably that of her former FBI partner.

She automatically turned towards the sound, and saw Mulder in the distance, looking panicked. Torn, she looked back to where Cancer Man had been standing with the baby, but they had disappeared.

She walked towards Mulder, who looked no less upset as she approached.

"You need to wake up," he called to her.

She blinked and momentarily halted in her tracks. "What?"

"Wake up, Scully!" he insisted, and moved towards her, then placed his hands on her shoulders, shaking her gently.

She blinked again, and suddenly she was lying on the floor of the public library, though she didn't remember how she'd gotten there. She looked up, and the concerned face of Fox Mulder swam into view. Scully surmised that she had fainted.

"I'm fine," she insisted reflexively, then attempted to rise, but was met with a hand on her chest.

"Whoa, Scully, take it easy," he insisted, then held out a hand, which she reluctantly took as he pulled her into a sitting position, then reached his own hand around her to support her back and began rubbing light circles on it.

A wave of dizziness overtook her and she reached out to steady herself against his chest. All of a sudden, she realized she was going to be sick, and was surprised to find a trash can in front of her just in time.

"Yeah, you're fine," Mulder mocked darkly as he placed the waste basket aside after she was done.

"I'm sorry," she told him, looking around to see if she'd attracted any unwanted attention. She was surprised to find them still completely alone in the large room, and wondered why the library was unpopulated at this hour—had the plague targeted the educated, or in the time she'd been missing, had libraries fallen completely out of fashion in favor of personal electronic devices, or had Mulder done something to make sure they got a private space? She looked back at her erstwhile partner, who seemed about ready to jump out of his skin. "I don't know what's wrong," she admitted, "but I think I'm okay now."

"I want to take you to the hospital," he admitted. "If the best doctor I know doesn't know what's wrong..."

"Then the doctors in the hospital aren't going to be able to figure it out either," Scully supplied for him. "Especially when they have dubious loyalties." She paused as his eyes widened at her immediate jump towards paranoia; that had always been primarily his domain. "Although..." Her voice trailed off.

He eyed her curiously. "What is it, Scully?"

"I'll go to the hospital, as long as it's my hospital, and not the ER. I think I might still be able to call in some favors."

Mulder nodded in agreement.

"Do you think you can walk?"

"I think I'm completely fine," she reiterated, earning her a disapproving stare. Feeling like she needed to explain herself, she added, "Lots of common and benign conditions can cause fainting spells." _Like pregnancy_ , she thought silently, remembering the last time she'd experienced similar symptoms, and wondering if he was recalling the same events. "But there's something...I have some questions I'd like to get answered."

Obviously displeased at the vagueness of her reply, but not daring to question her further, most likely due to years of experience angering her or being shut out after doing similarly, Mulder rose to his feet and then reached out an arm to help her to a standing position.

Their purpose for visiting the library temporarily forgotten, they headed out and to the car, and although he stayed close, protectively keeping his hand on the small of her back—as had once been his custom, but which he'd mostly neglected since she'd moved out of the house they'd shared—she managed to walk the whole way unaided. As she settled into the passenger seat, she breathed a sigh of relief that her body had not betrayed her assertion of general health. She contemplated for a moment whether they should stop for food, since simple low blood sugar could have been the trigger for her episode, but she found no appetite as her stomach flip-flopped with anxiety about what she might find during her examination.

The ride seemed to last an eternity, but when they finally arrived at Our Lady of Sorrows, she was relieved to find that the desk staff on duty were all new enough that they did not recognize her, but that her friend, Nurse Sandeep, was not only still on staff, but currently working her shift. Mulder looked on with muted amazement as Scully spouted what must have seemed to him like medical technobabble in order to obtain a meeting alone with the nurse, who seemed much less surprised than she should have been to find that Scully was in fact alive and well. Apparently news of her demise had not spread widely, at least among her former colleagues at the hospital. They must have thought she'd just disappeared back into the world of the FBI and had no need for their medical services, or had obtained them elsewhere.

Mulder expressed a desire to attend the meeting, but Scully insisted he wait outside, and again, he gave her a disapproving look, but did not press further, knowing that arguing would be useless. He had no reason to suspect she would be unsafe here, and it was no longer his right to demand satisfaction of his curiosity regarding her personal matters.

Nearly two hours elapsed before she returned to the waiting area and bade leave of Sandeep with a light hug. He put down the magazine he'd been flipping through—she wondered how many he'd gone through, or if he'd actually read any of them—and looked up expectantly at her, but did not speak.

Scully eyed him in silence for several moments before finally telling him, "I found something."

His eyes implored her to continue, even as impending panic spread over his countenance.

"I'm not sure how to explain it, and I definitely don't want to do it here."

He nodded. "We can go back to the hotel," he offered. "But, are you okay?"

She nodded uncertainly. "Yeah, I'm okay."

He clearly wanted more, but even at that small concession, relief flooded his features. "Good. Let's go home and talk." And with that, he rose and, once again, placed his hand on the small of her back to lead her out to the parking lot.


	20. Chapter 20

“Are you sure you’re okay with this much walking, Scully?” Mulder asked as the branches crunched under his feet. He half-expected an eyeroll and an “I’m fine,” but she turned and met his eyes steadily before speaking.  
  
She took a deep breath. “I don’t trust the hotel room not to be bugged,” she admitted. “Especially after we were gone for several hours. Here, in the middle of nowhere, I’m hoping we can’t be heard.”  
  
He nodded knowingly. “I get it, but when did you turn into me?”

She didn’t even smile, as she would have once upon a time. “I have reason to be cautious.”  
  
“So I gather.” Mulder eyed a large rock nearby, and nodded towards it. “How’s about we sit over there and you can tell me about it? Unless you don’t think we’re deep enough into the woods yet.”  
  
She looked up, noting the significant canopy. “I guess this is good enough.”  
  
He sank onto the rock, then waited in silence while she settled herself beside him.  
  
She fiddled with her hands for a few moments before finally looking back up and into his eyes. “How do I know what’s real?”  
  
He chuckled lightly. “I often ask myself the same thing.”

The worry in Scully’s eyes indicated his response hadn’t amused her.  His face grew serious, and he tried again, “This is about what you saw when you were being held, isn’t it?” She nodded. “When Spender operated on my brain, I saw things too. It felt real, while I was there. But when I came back, I knew it wasn’t.”  
  
“Let’s just say I’m not as certain as you were,” Scully admitted. “How do I know you’re real?”  
  
He thought for a moment. “I can tell you I’m real, though I don’t suppose I can offer you any proof. But does it matter?”

She responded by way of a frustrated glare.

“I mean,” he continued, “what is reality anyway except what we perceive? Maybe, if we believe something’s real, it is. We’ve certainly seen some evidence of that in our work. Tulpas and so forth. The band-aid nose man.”

Again, she didn’t even smile. “I just don’t want to tell you something personal if you’re not really you,” she admitted. “I’m not even sure I want to tell you if you are you.”

He sighed, looking down at his hands. “Well, I’m not going to push you. But it sounded like you needed to get it off your chest, and I’m here, listening. I can’t control whether you believe in me, but I wish you would.” With that, he looked up at her longingly.

She nodded and paused for quite some time, chewing on her lip, wringing her hands, and glancing around their surroundings. Finally, she met his eyes and spoke. “I’ve recently been pregnant and given birth, Mulder,” she admitted. “More recently than William. The examination confirmed it.”

His eyes grew wide with alarm. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she told him. “Not to mention that my physical symptoms and…other things…corroborate what I found.”

“Other things?” he queried.

“Um,” she began, “I’ve been dreaming about a baby. My baby. Maybe our baby. That I was pregnant, and gave birth, and Cancer Man took it as his own. And,” a tear rolled down her cheek, “even though I’m not even sure whether it’s real, I feel like I’m missing a child.”

He reached out and took her hands in his own. “They’re just dreams, right? Could it just be William that you’re missing?”

She shook her head. “That’s what I’m not so sure of, what’s a dream and what’s real. And it feels different than William. I miss him too. And Emily.”

“Well, dreams can be manifestations of our subconscious knowledge,” Mulder admitted. “It’s very possible that something happened to you, and your brain is trying to tell you what.”

“That’s exactly what I’m afraid of,” Scully admitted. “And if Spender impregnated me and then took my baby…just like Sveta…” Her voice broke; she didn’t need to continue.

He reached around her and gathered her towards him, then just let her cry, rubbing her shoulder gently.

When her sobs had softened to sniffles, he pulled away slightly so he could face her again, then addressed her quietly. “Why do you think the Cancer Man would do this?”

She shook her head. “Last thing I remember, before I saw the space ship, you were pretty badly off. The treatment I was giving the others wasn’t going to work for you; you were past that point. You needed stem cells, from William. But I had no idea where William was. I guess it’s possible Cancer Man created another child for the purpose of treating you, and maybe others.”

Mulder grabbed her hand again and squeezed gently. “Even if that child saved my life, Scully, it doesn’t make it right. I would never, ever have participated if I’d known what was going on.”

She looked up at him with wide, watery eyes. “I know you wouldn’t.” Then she started, and pulled her hands back into her lap. “What do you mean you wouldn’t have participated? What did you do?!”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I was pretty sick, and then he told me you were going to die and only I could save your life. I did what he told me. But I swear, Scully, I know nothing about a pregnancy or a child. All I knew was I wanted to get you out of there alive, and I did.”

She pursed her lips. “I believe you. But it still doesn’t make sense. Why would Spender go to such lengths just to save you?”

Mulder sighed. “I agree, he wouldn’t. But we share DNA. Is it possible he needed it to save himself? What saved me could save him too?”

“Yeah, maybe,” Scully admitted. “Or maybe that cure his company marketed was derived from the child’s DNA. So our child was essential to his ‘saving the world’ and making a name for himself, as well as a lot of money.”

“Again, that doesn’t make it right, Scully,” Mulder reiterated. “Even if the child saved the whole world, you were violated to create it, and that’s not okay.”

“Yeah,” Scully agreed uncertainly. “Though, if I’d known, I probably would have volunteered, and so would you.”

“Maybe not, given that it’s Spender we’re talking about,” Mulder pointed out. “I’ve never trusted him, and I don’t trust him now, especially considering what we’ve seen and discovered in the last couple of days.”

“Yet you trusted him enough to do whatever he told you would save me?” she shot back, standing up from the rock and crossing her arms as she faced him.

He looked defeated. “I know, it might not have been a good decision, but you’re alive, and so am I. We live to fight another day.”

She continued to glare at him, so he continued. “You’re my weakness, Scully. You always have been. Ever since I first met you. I’d risk anything if I thought the alternative was losing you.”

“And that’s exactly why you lost me,” she told him, so quietly he almost didn’t hear.

“I know,” he told her. “But I also know you’d do the same for me. It’s just…less risky, because you actually know what you’re doing. Not that you haven’t ever trusted the wrong person, even Cancer Man once.”

Now she was crying silently again, and she dropped her arms and sat back on the rock beside him. “Cancer Man promised me a cure to save many lives. I couldn’t pass that up. But he tricked me, and I won’t make the same mistake again.”

At that, Mulder smiled sadly. “I’d rather you make that same mistake again than stop trusting everyone, Scully. Being ridiculously paranoid is my job. And I don’t like it when you do my job for me. Because I can’t do yours.”

“Oh yeah, and what’s my job?” Scully asked.

“A lot of the time, your job seems to be to save me from myself,” Mulder answered matter-of-factly. “But you also save other people, whether it’s as an FBI agent or a doctor. That’s your weakness; you’d risk anything to save someone’s life, and that’s why you went with that cigarette-smoking bastard, and why you’d do it again. And even though I was angry at the time, I love you for it.”

She was left speechless for a moment, tears still streaming down her cheeks as she grabbed for his hand this time. When she’d recovered enough, she addressed him. “So, what do we do now?”

“Well,” he replied contemplatively. “I think we go get something to eat, and then we go back to the hotel room and rest. And when we get a chance, we talk to Skinner about going back to work, as soon as possible. Getting our death certificates nullified and whatever else needs to happen. Find a more permanent place to live, together if you’ll have me.  And then we’ll find out what’s been done to you, and why, and if that child is still alive, we’ll find it and keep it safe.”

“Her,” Scully replied quietly, looking up at him, her tears subsiding. “The baby’s a girl.”

“How do you know?” Mulder asked curiously.

“My dreams,” Scully responded. “Is that silly?”

Mulder grinned at her. “No, not at all. Anyway, what do you say?”

She contemplated his plan for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I think that could work.”

“Good,” he replied, then got up off the rock and offered her his hand, which she took, and rose beside him.


End file.
